It was a long week, and as with all quality endeavours, I have no logical sense of progression or process. But now that DT has returned back south, I am left with a studio that smells of warm dust and coffee. Also, there are scraps of paper all over the floor and a mess of audio files scattered across three hard drives.
Late in the evenings, we would skirt around the issue of language, of interior processing, of framing words and their superficial truths in the more resonant architecture of sincerity; music.
There can be no denying at this point that the feelings surrounding the new HG recording are largely proximal to anxiety. I am well outside my comfort zone here, and the hours of material that have been amassed not just over the last week of joint recording, but through the earlier months of summer are, frankly, overwhelming. We are, it seems, entering into a profoundly dark and cold winter where the true, TRUE heart of the work needs to be courted, teased and tricked into the light.